when everything's made to be broken
by angeleyes4191
Summary: Lydia supposed it was better this way. If she just looked at the eyes there was no mistaking what was going to kill her and it wasn't Stiles…not her Stiles.


**I started writing this before Silverfinger came out and just now got the muse to finish it. So, yes I realize Stiles's eyes are not going to turn black. It's not related to Riddled. This is based off my own prompt of "Wouldn't it be cool if possessed!Stiles stopped Lydia's scream like one of the Oni?" Turns out, it's not cool. This was slightly painful to write and I'm a bit nervous, but please enjoy.**

* * *

Blood…there was so much, too much, blood. She was covered in it. The drying liquid pulled at her skin like glue; flaking and falling away in patches. It didn't matter at all that the body at her feet belonged to a once alpha werewolf, Lydia knew that there was no coming back from this. Not for Aiden…not this time.

Her breathing was hard and labored from running. It felt like she'd been doing exactly that for hours. She was exhausted, every part of her throbbing, but since the moment she was led back to this room, Lydia hadn't taken her eyes off of the thing in front of her. Stepping back blindly, she let out a whimper when her heel slipped causing her to fall to her knees in the pool of blood she was standing in. She tried to get up on her own, but in her panic balance failed her. Lydia's audience continued to watch as she scrambled away from it; the backs of her thighs, drenched in Aiden's blood, scraping across the dirt covered floor below them. Only when her back hit a wall did Lydia stop and attempt to get to her feet once more.

Whatever it was, they were still working on the barest of hunches, had trapped her in this place. During their chase it had played in her head and made all of the windows and doors vanish, even the one that she and Aiden had entered through. The building was old and abandoned, just off the highway between Beacon Hills and the next town over. Lydia supposed that it had once been some sort of factory, but any machines that had once been here were long gone by now.

In hindsight, it was more than a little bit stupid to show up here with just Aiden for back up, but they had only come here to look for clues. She had originally planned to come on her own, noting that she could more than handle herself, but the twin insisted, an attempt to get back into her bed and good graces, and look where it had gotten him.

Now standing, Lydia took a breath and let herself really feel the thing that had been swelling inside her since the werewolf fell at the figure's hands. The banshee's first scream had been one of sadness and terror, not calculated and powerful. Another scream was building deep in her chest, wanting to tear through her throat with everything she had left. It wanted to leave her breathless, to shake the walls around her. It wanted to fight back, to bring the thing in front of her to its knees.

With her back literally against the wall, Lydia inhaled as deeply as she could without drawing too much attention and placed her hand to her stomach, looking to use her diaphragm to her full advantage. Her eyes never strayed from the motionless figure in front of her as she thought about how, maybe if she could scream loud enough, Scott might find her. If she could scream loud enough, there was still a chance she could survive this.

She knew she only had one shot.

Unfortunately, the moment the sound started to leave her lips the figure was in front of her, she didn't even have time to blink. It raised its left hand gripped the air like a claw, stopping her scream as if it was ripping the vocal chords from her throat without even laying a finger on her. Bitter thoughts and "I should've known"s crossed Lydia's mind as her hands went around her neck in an attempt to soothe the raw pain there.

Tears filled her eyes as she remembered how someone once described Jackson to her, back when he was more lizard than man. They said it was like looking at Halloween mask and recognizing the person underneath. This time though, that someone was the mask and whatever was under it Lydia only recognized from her nightmares.

"Stiles, please don't do this." she gasped, her voice barely a whisper fighting against its grip as the thing that wore his face closed the already short distance between them. Its movements were fluid and cold, nothing like the boy she knew. Every other detail about him looked the same, except his eyes. The kind amber eyes, which once had stared at her in such wonder, were now black. Pupils blown wide as if the dark thing inside of him needed some room to escape, to breathe beneath the surface of Stiles's pale skin. Lydia supposed it was better this way. If she just looked at the eyes there was no mistaking what was going to kill her and it wasn't Stiles…not her Stiles.

In a moment, the hand that held back her scream was strong around the soft skin of her throat as it lifted her high against the wall. Her toes barely touched the floor as she kicked at the figure's shins to no avail. Lydia wrapped her hands around its forearm in an attempt to get free, but all they did was stain Stiles's skin with blood that wasn't just Aidan's by now. Lips parted as she tried to cry out, to beg, to plead…_to breathe._

She understood now how it'd been able to practically tear Aiden's head off his shoulders. The werewolf didn't even have a chance to put up a fight. With the lack of effort it was putting into her strangulation, Lydia suspected she weighed about as much as a sack of potatoes to it. Maybe she was even as light as a feather. Hell, with her head swimming as it was, she felt like one.

Hazel eyes stared down into black ones while Lydia fought to stay conscious even just a second longer. Words fell from her as silently as tears did. She let her nails weakly dig into its…his skin. Lydia needed Stiles to come for her now more than ever.

Just before her eyes slipped closed for what she knew would've been the last time, Lydia saw it. If Stiles had been a werewolf they would've glowed, but, as it was, the amber overtaking the black in his eyes as his pupils narrowed was the most wonderful thing Lydia had ever seen.

A scream, to match one of her own, tore out of his throat as Stiles dropped her. He stumbled back and fell to his knees, wrapping his right arm around himself like he was trying to get his left under control. Lydia sucked into huge breaths of air that made her head spin as she crawled over to him from her place on the floor. She coughed, chest heaving, and placed her hands on his cheeks brushing soothing circles over the bones beneath them, not caring about the stark red streaks her fingers left in their wake.

They both recited mantras in the darkness while she held him; thank yous slipped off her tongue as he repeated, "No no no, not her. Never her," a command to the demon inside him.

"You need to go. Please, Lydia, just go." He sobbed once the room had drifted into silence, his voice raw and terrified, his body shivering beneath her fingertips. "I won't be able to stop it next time."

"No," she replied quietly with a shake of her head, before she leaned forward and placed her forehead to his. "No, I'm not going to leave you." Lydia let her nose brush his, all the while ignoring how sickly cool and clammy his skin felt, "I'm going to save you Stiles." She said those last words with a confidence she didn't really feel.

Her gaze locked with his when he let out what she could only call a laugh, "You can't. Nobody can." he said sadly.

Lydia wanted to kiss him, to offer him some comfort she desperately wished was real…solid. Comfort that he could feel and taste, but she couldn't bring herself to do it, not with Aidan's blood staining his cheeks.

Must it always end up like this for them? Huddled together on dirty floors struggling to catch their breath in a world so much bigger than they ever could've imagined back in the third grade?

His eyes searched hers before he slipped from her touch, pulling away from her, making her feel hollow, "I don't know how long this is going to last. I've seen you so many times Lydia, I'm not even sure you're real-"

She took his hand with as much strength as she could, keeping him with her so he couldn't disappear into the shadows again. Lydia brought his palm to her chest, just above her racing heart; the weight of it a heavy comfort. The banshee watched with a small smile as his still clear eyes widened slightly before she spoke, "I'm here Stiles. I swear to whatever Gods that exist, that I'm sitting right here in front of you. I'm real and I'm your tether. I'm supposed to pull you back, to keep you here. Please, Stiles." She paused, her throat hitching painfully as tears spilled freely down her face, "Please let me. Come home. Come back to me."

Stiles didn't do or say anything, for what felt like a lifetime, until he moved closer to her once more. His eyes searching while his hand left her heart only to tangle itself in her knotted hair as he bought his lips to hers; a gentle kiss she couldn't refuse. Lydia knew it was a goodbye after all and the moment they parted a broken sob left her throat. "I can't." he sighed, leaning his forehead on hers once again while she cried. His breaths were shaky as he tried to get his next words out, her tears drowning him, "I-I don't think I'll be able to break myself out anymore. It's getting stronger," Stiles's voice shattered and became that of a boy Lydia remembered from so long ago; a boy who cried and fought a father who was cradling him to his chest as they lowered a wife and mother into the earth. A boy whose breath she stole with a kiss, "And I'm so tired Lydia. I don't want to hurt anyone else, but its voice is always there telling to do things, making me watch….I've tried to stop…everything, but it won't let me go."

Lydia silenced him then, her lips insistent on his, memorizing them. She didn't want to think about that, about the things Stiles might've done in the dark with the hope of ending all this. Her heart couldn't take it, not after everything. Pulling away, she lingered in the quiet, letting his breath dance across her skin before she spoke, "If you die, I'll going out of my freaking mind Stiles. I need you to hang on, okay? For just a little while longer. I swear, I'll figure this out. I just need you to keep going because I need more time."

Wrapping her arms around Stiles, Lydia's words hung in the air as she cradled him to her chest. There was no holding back the flood of tears inside him now, all she could do was try to hold together his breaking pieces. She knew she needed to be strong for him, like he had been for her so many times before, but it wasn't until that moment that Lydia realized Stiles had embedded himself so deep beneath her skin that each sob that left him chipped away a piece of her already broken heart. Somewhere along the way, she'd given it to him for safe keeping; he didn't even know it was his…to do with as he wished.

They could've stayed that way for hours, their tears like waves splashing over her skin, but he pulled away too soon, letting cold air take his place. "Stiles?" she questioned, her voice small as his breathing became labored, his limbs shaking. It was like a panic attack, except she knew that it wasn't.

Stiles doubled over, his arms wrapped tightly around his middle as he tried to keep fighting. Seconds past before he looked up at her, face pale, the darkness attempting to take over his gaze for what she hoped wouldn't be the last time. "Lydia, please…you need to get out of here." He said through gritted teeth.

The banshee took his face in her hands and placed a lingering kiss to his forehead, "Don't give up hope. Please Stiles. I'll save you, I promise."

"Just GO!" he screamed at her, pushing her away from him as he folded in on himself. Everything in her said leaving him was wrong, but Lydia knew that she couldn't stay.

"I'm sorry," fell from her lips as she ran, with everything left inside her she ran. Never once looking back, even when it felt as though his screams were ripping the air from her own chest. She didn't know how he did it, but somehow the glamor was gone, her exit in sight and clear. The moment she reached her car, Lydia didn't hesitate. Despite her shaking, she was able to get the keys in place after only a few tries and a frustrated cry.

The adrenaline inside her, that had gotten her through everything that had happened, finally began to wear off when she was five miles down the highway. Her hands gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles while the tension drained from the rest of her, leaving behind a cold sweat and shaking limbs.

Her thoughts were not nearly as kind.

She left him there. Sweet, suffering…_innocent_ Stiles, she couldn't save him. She abandoned him, leaving behind nothing but false hopes and promises that she was sure would be broken. He always saved her, how could she do this to him?

She left Aiden there. Aiden was gone. He tried so hard to be what he thought she wanted. He attempted to atone for his sins, to win back her heart not once realizing that he didn't stand a chance because her heart had never been his. She'd never feel his warmth again. Her skin burned at the memory of his touch.

How was she going to tell Ethan? How was she going to tell a brother that his other half was dead? Was it possible he already knew? Did Ethan feel it when the thing inside Stiles tore his brother apart?

Passing headlights shone through her windshield, shining cold light on her hands. They were covered in blood.

Stiles's were the same.

She couldn't breathe.

Lydia tried, but it felt like her throat was closing. Her chest felt too tight. Gasping, tears filled her eyes and she could barely see through the glass in front of her. The small space around her was getting smaller by the second. Pulling to the side of the road as fast as she could, Lydia left her keys in the ignition and almost fell out of her car in her desperation for fresh air.

Was this how he felt? After his mother died? When his father was taken?

Did he always feel so trapped inside his own skin?

The wind pressed against her as another car passed by, chilling the blood on her bare skin. What must she look like to anyone that bothered to spare a glance? Hair knotted, dress torn, skin more red than fair, would anyone try to stop her? Would they try to see if she was ok or were they all smart enough by now to know that you shouldn't bother bloody strangers near Beacon Hills?

Lydia tried to walk, not entirely sure where she planned on going, but her legs were too shaky to hold her. She leaned against her car for support, slipping down to the asphalt and hugging her legs to her chest.

The banshee tried to hold her breath, tried to calm down, all the while wishing he was there to help her; to steal her breath away.

It took a minute or so, but soon her gasps changed to quiet sobs and not long after that she felt it, the scream that had been sitting inside her for what felt like hours. It slithered between her ribs, aching for release with no demons around to stop it.

So, Lydia screamed.

The sound echoed through the night, shattering her headlights and windows, glass raining down around her, tangling in her hair. The darkness around her grew as every streetlamp in sight burst, sparks flickering like fireflies. Even when it felt like all her breath was gone, she couldn't stop.

The banshee screamed for a dead boy whose body his brother may never bury.

Lydia screamed for the broken boy who owned her shattered heart. A boy dying piece by piece, who would never be the same if he survived it.

And she screamed for herself, for everyone she knew that had to suffer any of this.

There, on the side of the highway between Beacon Hills and the next town over, Lydia Martin blacked out knowing Scott McCall would soon find her and, when he did, she'd have to tell him everything.


End file.
